Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by yourmaevemarie
Summary: Stiles' mind is falling apart in broken bits and pieces, and his hope is straining at the seams.
1. Chapter 1

"Free period?" Lydia asked, her fingers absently tugging at the hem of her dress. Stiles paused, his hand hovering over the knob of his locker. "Econ, actually," he muttered, "I just need to get out of here. I can't – I don't think I can…" he faltered, his words hanging in the air like a deflated balloon. Lydia nodded slowly, watching as Stiles slid in his combo and opened his locker. He knelt and began shoving books and spirals into his backpack, scanning the locker's contents slowly and methodically. Deciding against feigning disinterest, Lydia analyzed the locker intently, searching for any clues that would help unravel the complicated boy in front of her. The metal interior was surprisingly neat and clean, decorated only with three glossy photographs taped up in the corner.

The first was of Scott and Stiles hugging with their lacrosse sticks in hand, their faces red and sweaty. Behind them, the lacrosse field was filled with masses of students in red and white, their faces splattered with paint, and victory ablaze in their eyes. Lydia recognized the scene from the night of Stiles' first playing time since making the team.

Next to that was a shot of Stiles and Lydia on the night of the Winter Formal, standing arm in arm in the entryway of the school. Scott and Allison could be seen photo-bombing through the glass doors behind them, eyes crossed and middle fingers raised. Lydia felt her mouth twitch, trying to contain a smile. The memory of that night swept over her, like a wave sucking her underwater. _She had begged her mom to leave the camera at home. "No pictures, Mom, or I swear to God I will pack my bags and move in with Allison," she threatened, glaring at her mother's reflection in the visor mirror. She deftly swiped her lipstick across her bottom lip, staining it deep red. Satisfied with the effect, she tucked a few stray curls into place, and then stepped out of the car with effortless grace, never once stumbling in her towering heels. Lydia scanned the parking lot, her eyes landing on Stiles' blue jeep. She was distracted from the strange cocktail of emotions swirling around in her stomach by the tell tale click of a camera shutter. She spun on her heel, sending her dress fluttering up around her in a circle of pale pink. "Oh no, Mom, you're not coming anywhere near me with that. I asked you not to bring it!" she seethed, her hand resting on her hip in exasperation. She felt a light tap on her shoulder, and found herself staring up at Stiles. He grinned down at her, his eyes shining with a drunken buzz, though Lydia could smell no alcohol on him. Mrs. Martin shook Stiles' hand, and then hinted at snapping a photo of the two of them. Despite Lydia's red face and frantically shaking head, Stiles whole-heartedly agreed. "Don't you want to remember how alarmingly sexy I look tonight?" he had asked her, his eyes round and sincere, drawing a light laugh through her lips. Seconds before the camera flashed, Stiles had gently slid the white and gold corsage onto Lydia's wrist, his long fingers carefully arranging the delicate flower so that it rested just right._

In the photo, Lydia was gazing down at her wrist, her eyes warm and her red mouth parted in a surprised circle. Stiles was smiling down at her, clearly pleased with her reaction, his eyes filled the spark that Lydia knew only lit when he looked at her. Lydia wished he would look at her like that right now. She would gladly endure the humiliation of Stiles' puppy love, just to be consoled that he still felt that way. Just to know that Stiles – the irritating, quirky, sincere Stiles she had grudgingly come to acknowledge as a friend – was still there underneath the shadow of himself.

Lydia only caught a quick glimpse of the last photo as Stiles stood and carefully shut the locker, but the image brought weight to her heart. A much younger Stiles, with a fuzzy buzz cut and a black gap between his front teeth, standing under the arms of the Sheriff and a woman with bright blue eyes and dark, wild curls. His mother.

Lydia remembered meeting Mrs. Stylinski only once, when she was very young. _Mr. Martin's old dog Bruiser had ran away for the umpteenth time, and Lydia and her mother were driving up and down the dirt roads on the outskirts of town, scanning the forest for the scrappy mutt. Just as they rounded the corner in the road, the front right tire burst with a loud bang and a flurry of shredded rubber. Mrs. Martin clumsily pulled over to the side of the road, frantically dialing her husband for help. When the sun began to set and he still hadn't answered his phone, Lydia began to wonder whether she and her mother would be camping out in the car for the night. Just as she had resigned herself to search the trunk for blankets, a slight figure with a head of raven curls loped through the trees, seeming to appear from nowhere. The woman's head turned at Lydia's call, and she jogged over towards the car with the form of a practiced runner. When she reached them, Mrs. Martin seemed to recognize the runner's open, heart-shaped face and deep blue eyes. "Oh, Claudia. You have no idea how embarrassed I am…" Mrs. Martin said, her cheeks slowly turning pink, "We seem to have popped a tire, and I have no idea how to replace it. I've tried calling my husband, but he hasn't picked up. We've just been a pair of sitting ducks, haven't we Lyd," she finished, her voice hitching in a breathy laugh. Mrs. Stylinski laughed warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I've been there, trust me," she said benignly, "Do you have a spare in the back?" Mrs. Martin nodded, and led Mrs. Stylinksi around to the trunk. Within minutes, Claudia had hoisted the tire out, rolled it around to the front, and rested it against the bumper. Lydia gazed at the slight woman with awe, surprised by her apparent strength. Claudia ran to the back and retrieved a wrench, then proceeded to make quick work of removing the flattened tire. Once it was completely off, she fitted the new tire, the muscles in her back working as she screwed in the silver bolts. After the last bolt twisted into place with a satisfying squeak, Claudia rose to her feet, wiping her hand across her brow, dragging a black line of grease across her forehead. "How's that?" she asked, loading the gear and old tire into the back of the trunk. "Claudia, I can't thank you enough," Mrs. Martin gushed, wrapping her slender arms around Mrs. Stylinski's shoulders, "If you ever need anything, just give me a ring. I'd love for you to come to brunch with the ladies next weekend. I'm making coffee cake. Don't you like coffee cake?" Mrs. Stylinski nodded politely, trying to keep up with Mrs. Martin's babble. "That sounds lovely," she said, raking her hair back into a messy ponytail. "I hate to break our time short, but I think I'd better be going. I don't want to be late coming home. I promised Stiles that we could watch _The Return of the Jedi_ after dinner tonight," she said with a warm smile in Lydia's direction. And with that, she jogged back into the darkening forest, slipping behind a tree with a flip of her black ponytail._

The slam of the locker door jolted Lydia out of her reverie. Her vision cleared just as Stiles threaded his arms through the straps of his backpack, his shoulders sagging as if he were lifting the world onto his back instead of ten pound of books. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to catch up to him. Lydia took a hesitant step forward and lightly placed her hand on Stile's arm. She had to resist drawing back from the shock of how piercingly cold his skin was. The cold seeped through his t-shirt and hoodie, sending goosebumps up Lydia's forearm. "Stiles…" Lydia whispered, her breath catching in her throat, "you're… you're freezing cold." Stiles pushed away from the wall, his face scrunching up in frustration. "I'm fine Lydia," he said forcefully, his eyes still shut tight, as is he were squinting against a bright light. Lydia let her hand fall back to her side, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and concern.

This was not the Stiles who waved to her every morning as she walked into her third period class. Not the Stiles who had taught her how to fake a convincing nosebleed to get out of class. Not the Stiles who carried sarcasm and a wooden baseball bat as his only defense. Not the Stiles who had held her tightly as she screamed in fear and clawed at the cloudy ice during one of her first banshee screams. Not the Stiles who let her cut in front of him in the line of cars pulling out of the school parking lot. Not the Stiles who had pined for her ever since the third grade, vying for her attention with slightly irritating yet strangely endearing compliments and attempted conversations. Not the Stiles who had tied that corsage around her wrist and demanded that she take his hand and give him a dance.

She needed to bring that Stiles back, for her sake as well as his own. "You know what," she said, playfully tugging on the string of Stiles' hoodie, "I'm not really feeling College Prep Lit at the moment. Care for some company on your ditch day?" Stiles' fists slowly unfurled, his fingers shaking ever so slightly. "You don't have to do that, Lydia," she said, his voice low and dejected, "You don't have to join the pity party."

"I wasn't asking for an invitation," Lydia responded, one thin eyebrow cocked higher than the other, "The fact is, I've been dying to escape Doyle's class for days now. I've already read _A Separate Peace_ at least five times over. And the kids in that class are no fun at all. They never read outside the lines; way too literal for me." A ghost of a smile bloomed against Stiles' pale jaw, pulling taut the dark circles under his eyes. The bell for sixth period rang shrilly, echoing down the hall. "We'd better hurry. Wouldn't want to get caught out here, now would we?" Lydia said, turning on her heel and praying that Stiles would follow.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia hurried up the flight of stairs at the end of the corridor, careful to make sure her heels did not click on the tile. She rounded corner, knowing that Stiles was close behind only by sound of his sneakers gently padding across the floor. Her locker was halfway down the next hall, far away enough from the closest classroom that she didn't have to worry about being quiet as she fumbled with the combination lock. Stiles propped himself up against the face of the locker next to Lydia's, watching her patiently. Lydia swept down to a crouch, rocking back on the balls of her feet. She hesitated briefly, considering the homework she had already been assigned, and then quickly selected the necessary textbooks and journals. After pushing her work into the green messenger bag swung over her shoulder, Lydia stood and pulled her leather jacket off its hook, folding it over her arm. With one last glance at the contents of her locker, she shut the door, waiting to hear the _click_ and _thud_ of the bolt sliding back into place.

"Ready to go?" she asked brightly, her gaze lingering on Stiles' profile, searching for any remnants of his usual self. His eyes remained dark and squinted, and his cheeks void of any color. He nodded tersely and turned back to the stairwell, his shoulders sloped and his hands buried deep in his pockets. Lydia lengthened her stride in order to keep up, her walk becoming a sort of half jog. Her quick breaths did nothing to convince Stiles to slow down, and though she did not have much difficulty keeping up with him, Lydia could tell that he was too deep in his own head to be considerate. It wasn't long before she had spotted Stiles' faded blue Jeep parked haphazardly next to Danny's Honda Accord.

The front wheels were riding up on the curb, and the back left tire barely grazed the restraint of the yellow parking partition. With one glance at Stiles' glazed eyes and trembling fingers, Lydia held out her hand, knowing he was in not shape to drive. Without breaking his dead gaze at the ground, Stiles dropped the car keys into Lydia's outstretched palm, his long fingers brushing against her wrist. He rounded the car and jerked open the passenger side door, his skinny frame barely jostling the Jeep.

Lydia sucked in a deep breath of the cool afternoon air, bracing herself for the drive ahead of her. _What am I getting myself into …_ After swinging gracefully into the driver's seat and tossing her bag into the backseat, she jammed the key in the ignition and felt the floor rumble to life underneath her. Stiles sat low in his seat, his cheek pressed to the fogged up glass.

"Where to?" Lydia asked quietly, her hands resting on the slope of the worn steering wheel. Stiles rubbed his eyes furiously, staying silent for a few minutes. "Can you… can we go to the woods? There's somewhere I haven't been in a while. I feel like… I have to go there." He rattled off directions to the exact spot he had in mind, never once looking Lydia in the eye.

Without a word, Lydia pushed the Jeep into reverse and cautiously pulled out, frustrated by Stiles' mediocre parking job. The streets were empty except for the occasional driver and bicyclist. She maneuvered the twists and turns of the thinning roads with ease, leaving her mind free to wonder what Stiles thought he would find in the forest. The silence in the cab was beginning to feel suffocating, so she allowed her thumb to wander across the radio dial. The raspy guitar chords and mournful voice leaking through the speakers painted a pale pink smile across Lydia's lips. "Come on skinny love, just last the year," she breathed, mumbling the lyrics to one of her favorite songs. At the next stop sign, Lydia drifted to a stop and turned sideways in her seat, intent on pressing Stiles about their strange destination. The question faltered in her throat, sliding back down to her stomach. She stayed twisted in her seat, barely aware of the seat belt cutting into her neck, staring at Stiles, who had fallen into fitful sleep.

His neck was awkwardly crooked over the straining seatbelt, one arm cradling his head against the window, and the other resting dead on his lap. He looked like a baby bird, all limbs and blue veins. She absorbed the details of his silhouette, taking in his gently curled fingers, the slight bulge of his bicep through his jacket, the pale swell of his hipbone peeking out beneath his shirt, the pink of his pointed upper lip, the brown spots scattered across his cheeks and neck. Lydia sighed and tapped lightly on the accelerator, her stomach coated with the same sick acid from the Winter Formal. She shook the feeling away, refusing to feel tempted by someone who could never be hers. Would never be hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles kept his eyes cast down as they walked, his dark eyebrows scrunching together in a knot. His sneakers made wet slapping sounds against the wooden planks of the railroad tracks. The wind breathed through the surrounding forest, rippling his unzipped jacket. Lydia didn't bother to fix her hair when the breeze blew it into her face; her mind was too preoccupied to notice her wild appearance. She struggled with the thoughts swirling around her brain like the fog that was slowly settling over the horizon like a blanket.

Lydia threw a quick glance over at the boy next to her, noticing the way he picked his way over the tracks with more grace and ease then she had expected from him. The steady, purposeful way he walked clashed with the lost look splattered across his face. His eyes were clouded and glassy, and his lips were pursed in a frustrated pink bow. Lydia wondered how many times Stile had been this way, down the old train tracks winding in and out of the towering evergreen trees like a staggering drunk.

She felt a brief surge of gratefulness for the fact that she was wearing flats in place of her usual high heels. But even with her sensible shoes, the tracks were slick with the freshly fallen rain, and Lydia could feel herself slipping as she tried to match her short stride to Stiles' long one.

Lydia took in a sharp intake of breath as she felt her left foot go out from underneath her, and braced herself to fall back onto the steel rail. But she never touched the ground. A strong hand wrapped tightly around her waist, catching her and holding her upright. On instinct, Lydia threw her hands out to stop her fall, and ended up with her palms pressed to Stiles' chest. He gently leaned against her, touching her arm with his other hand. Her blouse hitched up in Stiles' hand, and his cold fingertips grazed the small of her back, his fingernails trailing across her skin.

"Ok?" he asked quietly, his brown eyes laced with concern. A warm flush seeped into her cheeks, prickling down her neck. She flashed a smile up at him, her embarrassment evident in her pink face. "I'm fine. Just slipped on these damn tracks."

A brief smile flitted across Stiles' face as his gaze warmed, and the confused, lost look in his eyes faded. They stood like that for another minute, Stiles gripping Lydia's hips protectively, and she feeling his heartbeat beneath her palms.

Somewhere down the tracks behind them, a shrill whistle pierced the thick air, reminding them to separate. Lydia's cheeks were aflame once again. Stiles stood completely still, his eyes shining with anticipation. "It's coming," he said, staring at the horizon, "We have to run. We're almost there."

Without warning, he snatched Lydia's hand in his own, and pulled her into a sprint. The wind began to pick up, making Lydia's dress flutter around her thighs. Her feet slid across the slippery tracks, but Lydia never fell. Stiles kept her steady.

There seemed to be an intense shift in Stiles as he ran. His eyes were lit in amber fire, and his cheeks were spiked with crescents of ruddy color. His lips were parted, sucking in gulps of air through a wide smile. A shaky laugh bubbled through his teeth. Stiles freed his hand from her gentle grip, pushing forward with a surge of speed. Lydia faltered and stuttered to a stop, feeling like a ship that had lost its anchor.

Lydia watched Stiles in amazement, in awe of the fragile, careless boy racing away from her. She bent over, her sides shaking as she laughed through panting breaths.

Stiles stopped a few yards away from her, his shoulders rippling under his jacket as he planted his feet firmly to the ground. Lydia hastened to meet him, choosing to run across the gravel instead of the treacherous tracks. Within seconds, she was standing behind him, her heart thumping frantically in her chest, beating against its cage of ribs like an animal.

The dewy grass rustled against Stiles' leg as he turned and gazed down at Lydia through his long eyelashes. Electricity sizzled behind his amber eyes, liquid adrenaline pumping in his lungs. Lydia took a step closer to him, drinking in his buzz, intoxicated with everything that he was in that moment.


End file.
